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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322448">Scarves aren't just for fashion (they're great for hiding scars)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_ceratops/pseuds/bi_ceratops'>bi_ceratops</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arguing, Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia Knows, M/M, Scarves, neither boy has a braincell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:07:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_ceratops/pseuds/bi_ceratops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac Lahey returns to Beacon HIlls, metaphorical tail between his legs. Stiles isn't thrilled, especially since Isaac is still annoying, he's suddenly nice, and has a great new haircut. No, not thrilled at all.</p>
<p>And of course he's still wearing scarves.</p>
<p>--- <br/>Set in season 4</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Isaac Lahey/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>234</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Scarves aren't just for fashion (they're great for hiding scars)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Underrated pairing!! There, I said it!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mr Lahey! It's good to have you back."</p>
<p>The boys locker room froze. Stiles turned. And there he was.</p>
<p>Of course Isaac Lahey was wearing a scarf.</p>
<p>He was standing next to Coach, jolted as the teacher slapped his back a little too hard. He still had those gorgeous golden eyes and curly blonde hair (even if it had overgrown slightly to give him that renaissance poet look), with a sharp jawline and a bit of a swagger. However, unlike the last time Stiles had seen him, Isaac looked worse for wear. His frame was skinny, the bones sticking through his pale skin like lines under paper. His eyes were sunken a little into his head, dark rings circling his eyes like a reverse highlighter. Instead of the swaggering, overconfident Isaac that Stiles remembered this one was more like that nerdy kid even hellishly uncool Stiles didn't want to talk to, the one that hid out in graveyards and flinched at the lunch bell.</p>
<p>This didn't stop him from walking straight over to Scott and Stiles, ignoring the concerned look that the two shared. He leaned on the locker, a smirk on his lips. "Hi Scott. Stiles." </p>
<p>"Isaac?" Scott wondered. "What are you doing here? Not that I'm not happy to see you-" </p>
<p>"I'm not." Stiles snapped. Isaac scowled, the small smile that he had on his lips faltering for a second. "You fuck off to France for like, what, two months? You don't call, you don't text, and then you turn up right in the middle of a supernatural deadpool and you lead with 'Hi Scott'? Are you kidding me?!" Stiles was seething, clenching his fists and unclenching them again to dispel the anger he could feel igniting his veins. "And what's with the scarf, really? It's boiling out." </p>
<p>Isaac scowled, turning to Scott. "It doesn't matter why I'm here, I just am. Am I okay to rejoin the pack?"</p>
<p>Scott smiled, resting his hand on Isaac's arm. "As far as I'm concerned you never left. Let's get you up to speed."</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Surprisingly, Isaac fit into the group dynamic quite well. He and Liam had clicked instantly, Isaac stepping into the big brother role almost instantly, teaching him how to control his anger. He and Malia had taken turns laughing at Stiles as he fumbled over himself one afternoon in Lacrosse practice, and he and Kira had made a formidable pair on the field. If anything Isaac had fit in a little too well. Instead of pushing everyone away he'd actually made an effort to fit into the group and be friends with them. It pissed Stiles off to no end.</p>
<p>So had the scarfs. He'd started wearing them all the time, the fabric sitting on his collar bone, in a whole selection of reds, blues, blacks and greys. It seemed that he'd acquired them all from France, not that he'd mention why he had them. Stiles had tried to wrestle the answer out of him several times, but it hadn't worked. "You do realise that's really impractical in a fight, right?" Stiles asked, watching as Liam ducked down to avoid Isaac's fists, large beads of sweat forming from the long hours training. "Big scary werewolves could rip right through it, or just grab it and pull you over. Ever think of that?" </p>
<p>"Still more useful in a fight than you, Stiles." Isaac retorted. Malia, who was sitting in the corner trying to figure out a cellphone, snorted.</p>
<p>Isaac had paused for just a little too long and suddenly he was on his ass, a very smug Liam stood above him.</p>
<p>Stiles had mostly forgotten the encounter, it not being uncommon for pre France Isaac to shoot an insult at Stiles in return for another, their bickering sometimes lasting several minutes, much to the pack's annoyance (usually Derek's). However that night Isaac came trotting out of Derek's loft after him, sliding into the passenger seat of the Jeep. "Hey, Isaac. The hell are you doing?" Stiles questioned, stopping the engine and turning to his unwelcome carshare.</p>
<p>"Could you give me a lift back to Scott's? He's gone to Kira's." </p>
<p>Stiles grumbled but didn't refuse, turning the keys and heading off towards Scott's house, where Isaac had returned to staying. They sat in silence for the most part, not even turning on the radio. Isaac finally spoke up, his face reflected in the car window but his eyes not even in Stiles's direction. "Look, I'm sorry if that comment I made about you being useless was hurtful today. It wasn't meant to be." </p>
<p>Stiles nearly stalled the car. "Isaac Lahey, apologising? Sure, okay."</p>
<p>Isaac crossed his arms and let his shoulders slump. "Well get used to it." His voice was oddly quiet and small, like a child.</p>
<p>Stiles felt a comment leap up into his throat but he held it down, keeping his eyes on the dark road and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He wasn't sure what Isaac was doing, suddenly apologising and being nicer to him, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let him start being mean again. Besides, he seemed upset. Stiles was sarcastic, but he wasn't a douche. He continued to drive.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>"Thank god that's over." Stiles heard someone say, but he couldn't place the voice. His hands were clammy and his skin was thin, the blood vessels showing up like as easy as pen on a crisp white sheet of paper. He could feel the spots of blood drying on his skin, and his brain felt like it was moving at half an hour. His vision, which Stiles usually stated was the one part of him that worked normally was blurry and sluggish, focusing only on the closest objects and turning the rest of the vault into mush, like the static on a television screen. He could feel his heart beating and his blood surging, but Stiles still felt like he was half dead inside, unable to move his own body.</p>
<p>It felt like the nogitsune was back. </p>
<p>It very obviously wasn't. One of the assassins on the deadpool had released a poison into the school through the ink stamps on the PSATs, and it had nearly killed the werewolves. Stiles had been infected, but instead of nearly dying it had knocked him for six, his muscles aching so much he couldn't move, keeping him resigned to the floor. His locked limbs, the splodges of the chemist's blood and the familiar cold sweat running down his back just reminded Stiles of the nightmare that was being the mischief fox's host.</p>
<p>"Stiles?" A different voice spoke.</p>
<p>"S'okay Scott. I'm fine." He mumbled, staring down at his hands. 10 fingers. </p>
<p>"It's Isaac." Brilliant gold eyes lit up Stiles's world, moving his attention from his hands to Isaac's face, which was full of worry. Stiles ripped his view away, returning to count his fingers. Isaac gripped his hand, disrupting Stiles's counting. His palm was warm and gentle, it's large expanse covering Stiles's own. "He can't get you Stiles. It's dead."</p>
<p>"I know, it's just-"</p>
<p>"Don't worry I get it. Sometimes I still hear my dad talking to me, even though he's, you know, rotting in hell like he deserves to be."</p>
<p>Stiles managed to force out a little smile. Isaac moved backwards, sliding his scarf off over his head and flicking the hood of his jumper up so his neck was concealed. Stiles couldn't really see the colour from the dark corner of the Hale vault he was squashed in. He could tell it was cotton, maybe with little patterns embroidered in it. It might've been grey with tiny little moons, if Stiles's memory served him correctly, not that he really payed attention to what infuriating scarves Isaac wore. Even if sometimes they did suit him. </p>
<p>Isaac gave Stiles the scarf, but didn't takes his hands off it, instead using his grip to guide Stiles's hands a far enough distance so that the scarf was taught. "I used to do this with my mom's scarves after she died if I ever needed to calm down. Breathe in and focus on the scarf."</p>
<p>Stiles sucked in a deep breath, focusing on the fabric. Isaac used it to wrap around their hands like a swaddle for a baby until Stiles couldn't actually take in any more breath. Isaac smiled that warm, golden retriever smile. "Good. Now exhale and unwind the scarf until it's taught." </p>
<p>Stiles did exactly as he said, methodically wrapping his and Isaac's hands together until that was all he focused on, all thoughts of the nogitsune dissolving in his head like dust. Once he'd finished Stiles stopped, gazing into Isaac's eyes once more. For once he couldn't think of something to say, too caught up in a whirlpool of emotion. Awe, confusion, thankfulness, shame. They all swirled together in Stiles's stomach, the bubbling feeling like tiny butterflies. The young human had never quite been this close to Isaac, smelling his scent of butterscotch or seeing just how well his curls went with his skin, peeking out over the hood of his sweatshirt.</p>
<p>His expression was difficult. It was inquisitive and concerned, and not at all full of that cockiness that Isaac was known for. Isaac suddenly stood up, yanking his hood higher so it covered his neck completely. If Stiles could actually see he would say that Isaac might be blushing, but it was too dark to know for sure. "Keep the scarf. I mean you talk about it enough." Isaac murmured, disappearing into the darkness of the Hale vault. </p>
<p>That night Stiles wrapped the scarf around the post of his bed, his dreams filled with warmth gripping his hands and the smell of butterscotch.</p>
<p>--------------------------</p>
<p>From that day on, Stiles took the scarf with him everywhere. Between classes and pack meetings the teenager found himself absentmindedly twisting it between his hands, winding and unwinding it. He didn't wear it (he wasn't some cold necked freak like Isaac), but he had it out enough for Lydia to notice one afternoon, and pick him up on it. When Stiles had explained that it was just a gift to calm his nerves Lydia pulled that patented 'yeah right' face but Stiles just ignored her. It was a gift, and it was helpful, and sue him for having it out frequently to calm his nerves. And so what whenever he got it out he thought of Isaac and got a strange warm feeling in the pit of his stomach? That was just gratefulness. It's not like Stiles was in love with him or anything. Ignoring the scarf, Isaac and Stiles had fallen back into their comfortable stride, constant bickering and jokey insults. Even, it turned out, in life threatening situations. </p>
<p>"Hey pretty boy! Could you stop staring in the mirror? It's not like we've got professional hunters after us or something."</p>
<p>"I thought someone was behind us, so I was trying to check without giving away that I knew. Or I was, before you announced to everyone that we were here." Isaac growled, stepping in front of Stiles and unsheathing his claws. Some hunters had tracked Isaac off the deadpool and started following the two as Stiles went to drop him off at Scott's. They'd instead headed to the school, busting through the locks and charging down the corridors, dodging spears which came at the pair like bullets, whistling through the air. Or they had been, until they'd ended up in the boys locker room and Isaac had paused in front of the mirror. "And do you really think I'm pretty?" </p>
<p>Isaac turned to Stiles, his face in that dumb smirk that left Stiles speechless. "Uh... Shut up and- Isaac!"</p>
<p>A spear came out of nowhere and lodged itself into Isaac's shoulder, knocking him flat onto the ground. The hunter came charging round the corner, another spear brandished, and a third one strapped to his back. The hunter was buff, a tight t shirt doing little to hide the bulging, oiled muscles that were underneath. They twitched with every step he took, his footsteps plodding against the ground so loudly they sounded like gunshots. He had the physique of one of those old Greek god statues, and spoke with a deep, gruff voice. "The Demigod thought this would be trickier."</p>
<p>Great. Another hunter with a gimmick. This one spoke in third person though, which Stiles couldn't decide was better or worse than having no mouth at all. Stiles grabbed a lacrosse stick from the nearest open locker and slammed it down on The Demigod's head, the cheap metal bouncing off his skull. The two made eye contact for a second. "Yeah." Stiles sighed. "I know it was shit." </p>
<p>Then the Demigod was on the ground, Isaac having pulled the spear from his shoulder and tackling him. Stiles was stunned slightly. Sometimes he forgot just how strong the werewolves were. The two scrambled on the floor, grunting and growling as Isaac tried to wrestle the spear out of the Demigod's rock sized fists. The hunter suddenly found some sort of leverage and flung Isaac over his head like he was a plush toy, the teenage werewolf flying into a set of lockers so hard they dented and thundered as Isaac made impact. The boulder sprang up, moving towards Isaac's crumpled body menacingly.</p>
<p>Stiles darted out from his hiding spot and picked up the spear that the Demigod had dropped. It was double ended with points, like a large angry cocktail stick, made from some strong metal that made Stiles's bones shout in pain as he tried to lift it. Isaac's blood was splattered on one end of the deadly points, but  the liquid paled in comparison to the sweat in Stiles's hands, which slid over the pole. He lugged it up and took in a deep breath, before launching the spear forward with what he was sure was terrible form. </p>
<p>The Demigod snapped his head around to stare at the spear as it sailed past him... And landed in the wall about a meter away, sticking out of the plaster at a 45° angle. The Demigod smiled. And then was punched square in the face. Isaac snarled, using his claws to slash the Demigod round the face. The Demigod ducked out of the way of his next punch and grabbed Isaac's scarf, clenching it in a meaty hand and using it to slam Isaac into a locker. The werewolf grabbed the end round his neck and untwisted it, yanking it towards him. The Demigod pulled straight back, leaning backwards and tugging Isaac forward, who was using his clawed hands to dig into the fabric. He'd got half way down when he hit a snag, a massive hole opening up in the scarf like a chasm and tearing it in two. </p>
<p>Isaac managed to stay upright but the same could not be said for the Demigod. He slipped backwards, tripping over his feet and dropping backwards onto the spear that Stiles had lodged into the wall. He looked down, confused, and up to Stiles and Isaac. "Shit." He grumbled, before slumping over.  </p>
<p>Stiles stepped forwards, expelling a long held breath with thundered in the silence. Isaac looked at Stiles with a mildly irritated expression at his loud noise. Then Stiles noticed it. On his neck, where the scarf was usually sat, a milky white scar was carved into his skin. It ruined the perfect skin, the space around it red and inflamed. Stiles's face contorted in horror, his eyes widening and his mouth suddenly drying up. Isaac noticed Stiles's gaze and dove to his knees, scrambling on the ground and trying to salvage the scarf and tie it round his neck, but it was in shreds. "Dude. It's wrecked." Stiles murmured, edging towards Isaac. </p>
<p>The werewolf snapped, baring his fangs, his eyes glowing like embers. "Leave me alone, Stiles!"</p>
<p>Caught off guard, Stiles edged back a bit. He reached in his pocket, pulling out Isaac's scarf and slowly walking towards the boy, dropping it at his feet. Isaac looked up at Stiles with big, round, puppy eyes, and wound it around his neck.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Isaac had begun to avoid Stiles. He'd started getting lifts with Derek, who was happy to be useful and jumped at the chance. On dangerous missions he'd chosen to stay away from Stiles as much as possible, the latest example being actively going to fight a beserker instead of staying with Stiles to watch over Scott. Stiles hadn't even mentioned the scars to him or anyone else, but still Isaac still felt the need to avoid him like he was the person sending assassins after the group.</p>
<p>There were upsides to this, as with anything.  Stiles spent a lot less time thinking of insults  and the pack saved time with only the occasional snarky comment thrown between the two. It also meant less distractions when trying to solve the deadpool issue. The downsides, however, was that Stiles now didn't have a scarf. He found himself nervously wringing his hands instead of actually doing something, and whenever Isaac avoided his glance Stiles found himself missing the soft cotton, a pit opening up in his stomach. He wasn't sure why he was missing Isaac so much - it's not like they'd had the closest relationship to begin with. Still, it hurt. If anything it hurt more than Lydia's countless rejections of him and Malia's harsh dumping after she discovered her father. </p>
<p>That being said, it didn't even compare to the ringing in his head. </p>
<p>Tied to the pole with Lydia to his back, Stiles couldn't move. Not that he really wanted to, with the nasty head wound that Brunski had given him, but he could feel his anxiety and panic begin to kick in, his legs shaking, his feet sometimes knocking against Brunski's corpse. Parrish was hurriedly untying Lydia, rushing her over to where Meredith was standing, waiting to be attested for whatever she had done with the deadpool. To be completely honest, the whole confusion of having Meredith being alive and maybe a criminal mastermind wasn't helping Stiles's injuries and the bile that was leaping up into his throat, little stars blinking around the basement every time he moved his head.</p>
<p>Suddenly there were hurried steps around him, causing Stiles to wince at the sudden noise. It was Isaac, his face thick with concern. “Stiles?” He checked. Stiles grunted. “Parrish?” Isaac called out worriedly. “I think he’s got a bad head wound. Have you called an ambulance?!”</p>
<p>“One’s on the way.” Parrish replied, resuming reading Meredith her rights. Stiles was too busy struggling to track Isaac’s eyes. They seemed to blur as he moved, trying to get a good look at Stiles’s wound. He unwound his Scarf and went to wrap it round Stiles’s head, the blood instantly sticking onto the nice fabric. His scar glowed out in the darkness, and again Stiles felt himself overcome with a sick feeling, but instead of it being his wound it was from sadness, watching Isaac move his shirt in front of his neck, subconsciously. Stiles moved a clammy, shaky hand, grabbing the fabric and pulling it back down, the material wet with what could've been sweat, even though as far as Stiles was aware Isaac hadn’t had to fight his way down here. Stiles didn’t blame him though. If he had to rescue Isaac from a homicidal maniac then he'd probably be crying in worry. </p>
<p>Then it hit Stiles. Even though his vision was blurry and the room was beginning to slant, nothing had been clearer to Stiles in his entire life. He pulled Isaac in by his shirt, his slow brain failing to comprehend the words that were tumbling out of Stiles’s mouth. </p>
<p>“I think I’m in love with you.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The sun was too bright, the room was too white, and Melissa had been gone for hours. And she hadn’t even brought back that tape machine. Stiles had woken up that morning, not for the first time, in Beacon Hills Hospital. He remembered bits and pieces of the night before - the tapes of Lydia’s grandma, getting tased and tied up in Eichen Houses’s basement, and then getting knocked on the head by Brunski. After that everything had got a bit blurry. Melissa had filled him in on everything: Parrish and Isaac tuning up to save them, Brunski’s death, Meredith revealing she created the deadpool, and the attempt made on Scott, Malia and Liam’s life the night before. Stiles still felt like there was something he was missing, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.</p>
<p>He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, twizzling the scarf between his hands. It had a big splodge of his blood on it but Stiles ignored that, relishing in the comfort of wrapping it around his hands in time with his breathing. It was nice to get back in the habit, a relaxing technique he sort of wished he’d known years before. Though maybe that might have just been to do with Isaac. </p>
<p>The door creaked behind him. Stiles turned, expecting to see Melissa. It was Isaac, all scarfed up, holding a small bouquet of small flowers. He looked tired. Despite this, he still had that classic Lahey smirk as he stepped into the small room. “How are you doing?”</p>
<p>“I’m alright.” Stiles admitted. “I’ve got a bit of a headache. And my pride’s a bit hurt, but you know - nothing new.” Isaac rolled his eyes, his gaze catching on the scarf that Stiles was holding. “You can have it back, if you want?”</p>
<p>Isaac shook his head, moving to sit on the bed a little closer than Stiles expected, but it wasn’t necessarily unwelcome. “No, you can keep it. I have loads, and anyway if this gets destroyed it's not like you don’t know what’s underneath.”</p>
<p>“God, you see a man’s chest once and he’s acting like you’ve slept together.”</p>
<p>“... I meant the scar.”</p>
<p>Shit. Stiles felt his cheeks burning, an apology already slipping out of his mouth. Isaac stopped him. “Usually I’d kick your ass for that but… you know.” Stiles didn’t know. Isaac was the one blushing this time, shifting his eyeline into the distance. “I got the scar when I was in Paris. Some hunters who didn’t agree with Argent took me just after he left, kept me locked up in this tiny box for weeks and weeks. I spent all my time on the verge of a panic attack, hearing my dad shouting at me, waiting for someone to come and get me. Then I realised that no one was coming.” His voice had dropped, and so had his smile. His cheeks had gone pale. “When I was in Beacon Hills everyone I was close to I either pushed away, or they died.”</p>
<p>“So that’s why you came back.” Stiles said. Isaac nodded. Stiles didn’t really know what to say, so he just grabbed Isaac’s hands, and wound the scarf around them, connecting the two boys. </p>
<p>“I finally escaped one afternoon, but a hunter got me with a knife dipped in wolfsbane. It wasn’t enough to kill me, but it took me out for a few days and left a scar. A reminder of my failure.”</p>
<p>Stiles slipped his hand out of the scarf and over to Isaac’s accessory. He peeled it back, running his finger over the fat white line, which bulged slightly above the rest of his skin. “Think of it less as a reminder of failure, and as a reminder of your strength, I guess. You got out of there by yourself, and back to a pack who’s gonna stick with you forever.” Stiles’s face was just underneath Isaac’s, the two meeting. Isaac grabbed Stiles’s hand. If Stiles didn’t know better he would say the gesture was romantic, and in that moment he would’ve happily leaned up and kissed Isaac, but he stopped himself. “So who are the flowers for?” Stiles finally asked. “You finally going to make a move on Scott’s mom?”</p>
<p>“No, you dipshit. They’re for you.”</p>
<p>Stiles froze, his mouth stuck in an O shape and his eyebrows furrowed. Isaac noticed this and dropped Stiles’s hand, scrambling backwards so he was standing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Isaac floundered. “It’s just you told me you thought you were in love with me last night so I figured I’d turn up with flowers. Malia said it was a good idea. She was surprisingly okay with me liking you - I really should’ve expected this, shit shit shot shit - what are you doing?”</p>
<p>So that was what Stiles had forgotten. Admitting he might be in love with Isaac Lahey, scarf wearing werewolf and giant dork. Brilliant. And Stiles meant that in the best way, all his complicated feelings and emotions boiling down to clear thought. He stepped up to Isaac, grabbing the scarf around Isaac’s neck and forcing him to lean down. Isaac looked scared. “You know you being silent for once makes me really uncomfort-”</p>
<p>And then they were kissing.</p>
<p>Stiles could feel Isaac smiling into the kiss, placing a strong hand on Stiles’s back as the human leaned back, gripping Isaac’s face with both of his hands. That sickly feeling had gone, leaving Stiles with pure, unfiltered happiness. Judging by the slightly dazed smile Isaac wore when Stiles pulled away, he felt the same. He pulled Stiles’s hand off of his scarf, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“You know you could just ask me to lean down?”</p>
<p>“Shut up.” Stiles answered, pulling him in for another kiss.</p>
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